


Killer Dolls

by The_Rifleman



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Child's Play/Chucky (Movies), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6606304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Rifleman/pseuds/The_Rifleman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harleen Quinzel meets a new friend at Arkham Asylum. A friend named Tiffany who has just as much experience with mad love as she does. What will happen when these two hopeless and deranged romantics join forces? Read and find out. Rated M for language and violence in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Therapy

A group of about ten women sat in plastic folding chairs arranged in a circle inside a large grey room. They were all different ages, races, heights, and weights, but one thing they had in common was that they were all wearing the exact same pale blue pajamas with the word ARKHAM stamped across the chest in big black letters. That is because they were all inmates at Gotham City's leading mental containment facility, Arkham Asylum, and part of a group therapy session. The topic was "violent women who love violent men" and Dr. Gates, a stern looking female doctor with short brown hair and horn rimmed glasses, was leading the group from her comfortable upholstered office chair.

"Okay, that's good, Jenny," the doctor said to a heavy set woman with red hair who had just finished sharing with the group. "And do you think it was the fact that your father was a butcher that led to your over eating habit as well as your attraction to men who have a penchant for knives?"

"M-m-maybe," said the woman. "I never really made that connection."

"Well, that's what we're here to discover, ladies," said Dr. Gates to the group at large. "The root of these unhealthy and perverse desires."

She had a calm, patient, condescending voice. Like she was talking to very slow children.

"Okay, let's move on," she said as she jotted something down on the clipboard she had in her lap. As she wrote, the silver wedding ring on her finger glinted in the fluorescent light of the dingy room.

"Let's see, who haven't we heard from in a while," said the doctor as she surveyed the group. "How about you, Harleen." she pointed with her ballpoint pen at a petite blonde woman with pigtails and a far off, dreamy look on her face, who sat in her chair with her legs crossed, rocking back and forth to a tune only she could apparently hear.

"Oh, me?" said Harleen, after noticing everyone else was staring at her.

"Yes," said Dr. Gates. "Harleen, you've been in and out of this institution many times over the years. And everytime you come back it seems it is due in large part to your relationship with the serial killer known as The Joker. Tell us, is this what has brought you back to us again this time?"

"Well... sorta," Harleen said in a nasally Brooklyn accent. "Ya see, last time I got released I decided that was it, I would get my life back together and put Mr. J in the past. I got myself a job at a used clothing store, got a small apartment in The Narrows, even got a little hamster I named Bill. Everything was going fine, even if it was kinda boring."

"And then?" prompted Dr. Gates.

"And then he called," said Harleen. "I don't know how he got my new number, but Mr. J phoned me up one night and said that he was down and out and needed help. He asked me to come to a chemical plant on Bulsher Avenue to save him. I know I shouldn't have, but he sounded like he was in real trouble, so I had to go. Of course when I got there I found out he'd been using the plant to produce Joker venom he was gonna use to lace postage stamps with and he only needed my help because he needed someone to drive the tanker truck he'd stolen and filled up with the stuff. I told him 'No!' and put my foot down."

"Good for you," a few of the other women said.

"But then..." continued Harleen. "Then Batman showed up."

Harleen balled up her fists and made an angry face.

"Ooh, that Batman. It's all his fuckin' fault," she said.

"Harleen!" admonished Dr. Gates.

"Sorry," said Harleen. "But it is. He comes swooping through the skylight as usual and attacks Mr. J. So I go runnin' outside to get the truck thinkin' I can maybe drive it in through the wall and run over Batman or somethin', but as soon as I get outside I hear this explosion and when I turn around the whole building blows up and knocks me on my butt. Then out of the flames comes Batman who puts the cuffs on me and now I'm here. He's the one who should be in here. He murdered my puddin'!"

"Now see, Harleen, your projecting again," said Dr. Gates, calmly. "Batman is not the problem here. Not in this particular case anyway. The problem is your obsessive need to please others, particularly those who routinely take advantage of and mistreat you."

Harleen started to object, but Dr. Gates held up her hand to silence her and when she did so, her silver wedding ring shone.

"There is a difference between a functional relationship and a dysfunctional one," said Dr. Gates. She seemed to be speaking to everyone in the group at this point. "For instance, me and my husband of ten years, Ted, we have what is defined as a functional relationship. It's based on trust, mutual respect, and the willingness to put each other's needs ahead of our own selfish individual needs. Our marriage is a partnership, which we both work to help strengthen."

The women of the group looked at the doctor confused and unimpressed. Harleen just looked pissed. She slouched in her chair with her arms folded and went, "Hmph."

"We'll work on you some more in our next session, Harleen," said Dr. Gates, making another note on her clipboard. "For now let's hear from someone new. Ladies, I'd like you all to meet the latest addition to the group," she said, indicating a woman who sat far off to the left of everybody else and who had been completely quiet throughout the entire therapy session. She was a round faced woman in her late thirties or early forties with blonde hair and dark roots, and even with the baggy blue pajamas she wore on you could tell she had a voluptuous figure underneath.

"Would you care to introduce yourself?" Dr. Gates asked the woman.

"Oh, me?" said the woman. She had a smokey, soft voice that almost sounded like a whisper. "My name is Tiffany."

"Hello, Tiffany," said the other women in unison.

"Hi," Tiffany said, awkwardly waving at the group.

"Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself, Tiffany," said Dr. Gates.

"Oh, there's not much to tell really," said Tiffany. "I'm from New Jersey. I'm a Virgo. I like romance novels and sewing. I'm kind of a boring person."

"Okay," said Dr. Gates. "How about you tell us how you ended up here at Arkham Asylum, then, and why you decided to be a part of this particular group. You have a past history with violent men?"

"Only one," said Tiffany. "Chucky. Chucky was the love of my life."

"Was?" asked Dr. Gates.

"Oh, he's dead... currently," said Tiffany, looking only slightly sad.

The other women made sympathetic noises.

"I see. Tiffany, let's start at the beginning. What was your childhood Like?" asked Dr. Gates. "Your relationship with your parents for example."

"Well, I never really knew my father," said Tiffany. "As a kid it was pretty much just me and my mother, who always used to say that we were better off without him anyway. She was a tough woman, but also very wise. She was always giving me advice and teaching me life lessons in between working her waitress job at the diner and hanging out down at the biker bars. It's actually because of her that I met my Chucky."

"Mmm hmm," said Dr. Gates, making a note.

"You see, I was nineteen years old and I was working with my mother down at the diner. Her psoriasis was acting up this one day, so she asked me if I could finish out her shift for her so that she could go home to our trailer and rest. I said okay, and went over to one of her tables to take the customer's order and sitting there was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. He had long, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and as soon as I saw him I knew he was the one I would spend the rest of my lives with."

"Life," said Dr. Gates.

"Oh, right," said Tiffany.

"But Chucky was bad, was he?" asked the doctor.

"Well, it's all in how you look at it really," said Tiffany. "My mother always used to say that everyone has both good and bad in them. Chucky's real problem was his temper."

"Was he physically or verbally abusive to you?" asked Dr. Gates.

"Not at first," said Tiffany. "I mean, the sex could get pretty rough sometimes and he always did have a mouth like a sailor, but no, he reserved his violence for the rest of the world mostly. That's how I knew he loved me and I was special."

"But then things changed?" asked the doctor.

"Yeah. Eventually my mother... died and I decided to move with Chucky to Chicago. He had a friend named Eddie there and the two of them were going to start a partnership together. I guess in retrospect I was just getting my hopes up, but I always figured once we got to new surroundings and Chucky started his new... venture, that he'd mellow out and me and him could settle down together. That didn't happen, though. What happened is that he ended up abandoning me right after we got to Chicago. I didn't see him again for almost a decade after that. And when he did come back he was a complete ass."

As she talked Tiffany got madder and madder and her voice began to rise.

"We fought more then than we had ever fought in the past. He even hit me with a shovel one time."

"No!" said a black woman sitting next to her.

"Yes," said Tiffany. "But I stabbed him, so..."

"That's always how it is," Harleen chimed in. "They love ya, then leave ya, then when it's convenient they want ya back again."

"Yeah," agreed all the women.

"Now, ladies, let's calm down," said Dr. Gates.

"Anyway, to answer your question," Tiffany continued, composing herself, "The reason I'm in here now is because after Chucky died recently I decided to reinvent myself, much like Harleen was talking about."

Harleen smiled at Tiffany.

"I decided it was time to focus on me again, so I came to Gotham City. Unfortunately I had a little run in with the law as soon as I got here," continued Tiffany.

"Yes, it says here you punched a patrolman in the face when he tried to give you a speeding ticket," said Dr. Gates, as she read from her clipboard.

Tiffany smiled. "Yeah, and due to some past indiscretions on the books from when I was younger, the courts decided this was the best place for me instead of regular jail."

"Hmm," said Dr. Gates. "Okay, well, I think now is a good time to bring this session to a close for today, ladies. Next time we can pick it back up with you, Tiffany. I'm sure the more we learn about your relationship with this Chucky, the better we'll be able to help you confront whatever emotional and mental problems you might be having. And we'll all do it together, right ladies?"

"Right," said all of the women of the group like trained seals responding to a command. All except Harleen, who stayed silent.


	2. Wanna Play?

Later that evening Tiffany sat alone in the asylum's dimly lit cafeteria quietly eating some beige goop off of a styrofoam plate that she had been served for dinner. She had winced the first time she put the nasty stuff in her mouth, but had now gotten used to the weird flavor and texture. It was either mashed potatoes or chicken, she hadn't decided which yet. All of a sudden a small, high pitched voice from across the table said, "Hi," and Tiffany looked up, startled, to see what appeared to be a small, blonde, female doll sitting there.

"Holy crap!" Tiffany exclaimed.

The doll looked offended.

"Uh, my name's Mary Dahl," it said, and Tiffany realized quickly that it was not a doll at all, just a really small human. "Sorry if my appearance scares you, but I have Systemic Hypoplasia and can't really do anything about it. Thanks for being so polite."

"No, I'm sorry," Tiffany said quickly. "You just caught me off guard. I thought you were someone else. Sorry."

Mary eyed Tiffany quizzically.

"It's fine," she said. "Anyway, I just came over because I thought you might be lonely sitting here all by yourself. In a place like this it's good to have a friend or two. Not everyone is nice and welcoming to new comers."

"I appreciate it," Tiffany said. "I'm usually a pretty friendly person myself actually, but I just... I don't know, I'm not very comfortable in this place."

"Who is?" asked Mary.

The two sat in an awkward silence for a minute and then Tiffany finally said, "So, I'm afraid I don't really know what Systemic Hypoplasia is exactly. Do you mind if-"

"It means I look like a four-year old even though I'm thirty," said Mary, not really mad, just kind of matter-of-factly. "And will for the rest of my life too."

"Oh," said Tiffany.

"I suppose one advantage of it, though, is nobody gives me funny looks when I go see Disney movies all by myself," Mary said with a smile.

Tiffany smiled back. "It's good that you have a sense of humor about it," she said.

"You have to," said Mary. "If you don't, you go really crazy."

Tiffany nodded.

"I do wish I could reach stuff on high counters sometimes, though," Mary said wistfully.

"I know, isn't that the worst?" said Tiffany.

Mary gave her a look that said "what do you know about it, bitch?", but then changed her expression to a polite smile.

"So, what is you-" Mary began to ask, but was suddenly shoved over by a woman's hips as Harleen sat down and stole her seat at the table's bench.

"Hey," shouted Mary.

"Beat it, shorty," said Harleen. "I wanna talk to this lady."

"But I was-"

"Scram!" yelled Harleen.

Mary looked at Tiffany for help, but Tiffany just shrugged, so Mary hopped off the bench and toddled away in a huff.

"That wasn't very nice," said Tiffany, once Mary was out of earshot.

"I don't got time for nice," said Harleen. "Besides, that little tinker toy still owes me twenty bucks."

Tiffany admired this woman's feisty attitude. It reminded her of herself when she was younger, but at the same time she couldn't help but feel bad for little Mary.

"Your name is Harleen, right?" Tiffany asked. "From group?"

"Right-a-roony," said Harleen. "But you can call me Harley, everyone does. And you're Tiffany?"

"Mmm hmm," said Tiffany.

"Ya know, I really liked that story you told in group today, Tiffany" said Harley. "It reminded me a lot of myself and my boyfriend, The Joker. As soon as I heard it I thought, now here's a chick I can probably become pals with. She's seems like a real old-fashioned romantic like me."

"Love does conquer all," said Tiffany, simply. "That's what my mother always told me, anyway."

"You're preaching to the choir, sister," said Harley.

There was a pause.

"So... you said in group that your boyfriend is dead too?" asked Tiffany. She couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Sort of," said Harley. "He 'dies' all the time, but he always comes back eventually."

Tiffany, who had only regarded Harley with mild interest up to this point, suddenly sat up and gave her her full attention.

"Really?" she asked in a serious tone. "Ya know, you and I might have even more in common than you think."

"How so?" asked Harley.

Tiffany looked around at the other inmates who were milling about in the cafeteria, all in their own little worlds. Then she leaned across the table so that her face was only a few inches away from Harley's.

"If I tell you something that's kind of... strange, can you keep it to yourself and not tell any of these other wackos?" Tiffany asked Harley in a hushed voice.

"You really are new to Gotham," said Harley. "Strange is pretty much all we got here."

Tiffany regarded Harley for a moment and then figured, what the hell, this chick seemed trustworthy, and if nothing else, no one would believe her if she did blab anyway, since she was just a mental patient. Why not take a chance and open up to her?

"Okay, here goes," said Tiffany. "My ex that I mentioned, Chucky, was the notorious serial killer, Charles Lee Ray, who was gunned down by police in 1988."

"I remember that," Harley said, enthusiastically. "It was all over the news when I was a kid."

Tiffany gave her a stern look.

"But go on," said Harley.

"Anyway, what most people don't know is that he didn't actually die that night. He transferred his soul into a Good Guy doll and was able to live on," said Tiffany. "Several times over, in fact."

"Wait a minute," said Harley, looking as if she had just solved a mystery. "I remember hearing about something like that in the news too. Yeah, that kid said his Good Guy doll was possessed by the soul of Charles Lee Ray. That's why they stopped making them. And then later in the nineties those two teenagers made the same exact claim. Hollywood was going to make a movie about it. Chucky Goes Psycho... or something. Wait THAT'S the Chucky you were talking about in group? And you're...," Harley gasped. "You're THAT Tiffany? The one that was going to be in the movie with Chucky?"

Tiffany nodded.

"But she was a doll too," Said Harley, confused.

"It's a long story," Tiffany said with a wave of her hand. "But you see what I mean when I said we have a lot in common. We both have guys who don't let anything keep them down. Even death."

"Ain't it the greatest?" said Harley.

Tiffany sat back in her chair and smiled.

"Too bad we're trapped in here now," she said. "They may have returned again and are on the outside right now looking for us."

"You want to get out of here and find out?" asked Harley.

"That would be nice," said Tiffany. "But this isn't exactly the kind of place you can check out of whenever you feel like it."

Harley laughed a musical laugh. "Let me tell you a little secret of my own," she said. "I've broken out of this joint more times than I can count. It would be no sweat getting both of us out of here this very night."

"Really?" asked Tiffany. "You can escape? And you'd really take me with you?"

"What are friends for?" said Harley. "Besides, it would be an honor to help reunite you with your true love."

"How would we do it?" asked Tiffany.

"Oh, I been working on a plan since I got here last week," said Harley.

Both woman suddenly became aware of the fact that they were being watched and looked over to a nearby table to see a large androgynous person with long greasy hair and drool coming out of their mouth staring back at them. Harley and Tiffany looked at each other and then leaned forward to whisper in private.

"Meet me in the common room in an hour and I'll fill you in, okay?" said Harley.

Tiffany nodded affirmatively. Harley gave her a thumbs up and then stood up and sort of skipped out of the cafeteria. As she watched her go, Tiffany couldn't help but wonder if it was a good idea to ally herself with this woman. after all, she had only just met her, but something in her gut told Tiffany that her and Harley really were kindred spirits and maybe things would work out just fine after all.


	3. Best Laid Plans

Tiffany was in the common room one hour later as agreed upon. She sat by herself on an old, beat up couch and idly watched two other inmates play checkers at a card table over by a small black and white TV set.

"Hey!" whispered a voice next to her all of a sudden.

Tiffany jumped and turned to see Harley standing next to her, smiling.

"Don't sneak up on me," Tiffany said, angrily.

"Excuse the hell outta me," said Harley. "But I hope you're as good at sneaking as I am if we're gonna do this thing tonight."

"Oh, I've done my fair share of sneaking," said Tiffany with a smirk. "Don't you worry about me."

The two people playing checkers looked over at the women, curiously. Tiffany and Harley noticed, so Harley quickly sat down on the couch next to Tiffany and the two began to whisper again. The inmates turned their attention back to their game.

"So, what's the plan?" asked Tiffany.

"Like I said, I've been here lots of times, so I know people. The Keymaster owed me a favor, so I called it in and had him make me this," she reached into her pajama top and pulled something small and metal out that looked like a key. "He's a real D-lister type villain, but useful in situations like this. He made me this skeleton key out of nothing but a paperclip and some tin foil."

"Why would they lock someone like that up in such a cardboard prison like this?" asked Tiffany.

"I told you, this whole city is nuts. Anyway, this little sucker will open almost any door in this joint," said Harley, waving the key in Tiffany's face. "Except the main one. That requires a fingerprint scan."

"And your plan for that is..." asked Tiffany.

"Oh, don't worry, I got it covered. Once we sneak out of our cells and make our way to the front of the building we'll use this," she reached behind her and pulled something out of the waistband of her pants. It was a crudely fashioned plastic shiv.

"Let me guess," Tiffany deadpanned, "You got it from Knife Man?"

Harley laughed loudly and suddenly. The other people in the room looked over for a minute in surprise at the maniacal sound, but realized who it was laughing and so just ignored her.

"No, silly," said Harley, "I made it myself. A girl has to know how to improvise."

"I agree completely," Tiffany said with a smile.

"So once we make it to the main entrance," continued Harley, "We use this to force the guard at the door to open it for us and then we either knock him out and make a break for it, or we take him hostage. I haven't decided what kind of night it feels like yet."

Tiffany looked at Harley for a minute. She thought the plan sounded crazy. She thought this girl was nuts. She thought there was no way any of that would possibly work, but she was also morbidly curious by nature, so she asked, "What do we do once we're out of the building? There's still a fence around this place and armed guards watching the grounds."

"That's why ya gotta be sneaky," said Harley, like it was the ultimate answer.

Tiffany sighed. She may be crazy, but she appreciated Harley's optimistic enthusiasm.

"Considering you've done this several times before, I guess I'll bow to your expertise," she said, finally.

"Groovy!" said Harley. She stuffed the makeshift key back into her shirt and the shiv in her pants and then stood up. "I'll come to your cell and get you at, say, nine o'clock."

We don't have clocks in our cells, but okay," said Tiffany.

Harley chuckled and then skipped out of the common room without another word.

"Looney Tunes," said Tiffany to herself as she turned her attention to the end table next to the couch. There was an old Looney Tunes comic book on it, so she picked it up and thumbed through it. As she did so she wondered just how tonight was going to go and if, just maybe, she'd have to kill someone before it was all over.

Another loud, sudden laugh echoed through the room, making everyone turn around once again. This time, though, it was Tiffany who was the one laughing manically.


End file.
